Chapter 158 — Ye Jiao’s Father

The Yan household was governed with strict discipline. Though Yan Jide was a military man, he raised his daughter as if she were the child of a court scholar. From the age of fourteen, Yan Jixue was forbidden from stepping outside her home. After marrying Li Zhang, she observed even stricter propriety as a concubine, never crossing the threshold of the inner courtyard. Those who seemed familiar to her must have been met long ago, in childhood, during outings with her parents.

She thought for a moment, then shook her head with a faint smile of self-mockery. Her life had already reached such a state, and yet she still had the heart to concern herself with trifles.

Her nephew, Shan-ge, had already devoured several steamed buns inside the carriage. Upon hearing the guards outside sipping tea, he swallowed his saliva hungrily. Yan Jixue noticed and summoned a maidservant.

Her personal maid had long since been sold. Those remaining at her side were once coarse and common maids—plain in appearance and lacking in perception. Yet they were sturdy and not likely to perish along the road from illness.

"Go buy a pot of tea," Yan Jixue said.

The maid flung her arms and hurried off. Before long, she returned with the tea. As Yan Jixue received the teapot, she noticed a Taoist's gaze following the maid, falling upon her own face.

Her expression stiffened; instinctively, she nodded in response. The Taoist addressed her, his brows faintly furrowed, lips parting to utter two soft words. His voice was low—its meaning indiscernible—yet his expression held a knowing and comforting serenity.

She couldn't catch his words clearly, only remembered the shape of his mouth. Drawing the curtain closed, she pondered in silence.

The guards set off. The spring breeze was mild, and flowers bloomed with brilliance along the way, but to Yan Jixue, it felt as though she were traveling through wind and frost. All she could see were petals falling into muddy pits.

Half a month later, someone found her, bringing with them her father's relics.

With trembling hands, Yan Jixue opened them. For some reason, her mind returned to that Taoist's mouth movements. Her lips quivered, and a thunderous realization struck her heart.

"Grieve no more."

That was what he had said—grieve no more.

By her reckoning, the day they met outside the tea house beyond Chang'an was the very day her father had passed.

Who was that man, truly?

Yan Jixue clutched her father's belongings tightly.

Outside, a servant asked, "Miss, you mentioned taking in orphans that no one wants. There's one on the street—I've brought him."

She packed away her father's things and steadied herself. "Bring him in," she said softly.

Whoever that Taoist was, the matters of the capital no longer concerned her. If she wished to rise again, if she longed for revenge, then every moment from now on could not be wasted.

After Yan Jixue's carriage departed that day, the Taoist lingered at the tea house, waiting for another person.

This new arrival also wore Taoist robes, rushing in from the direction of the capital on a powerful steed. Upon seeing the elder Taoist, he knelt down with his robe lifted, tears falling before he could speak.

This man was Wang Qianshan.

"Master…" he choked, "When did you return? If I hadn't felt a sudden urge and used yarrow stalks to divine, I wouldn't have known! Are you hungry? Have you eaten well? Where are you staying? Why no luggage?"

As he wept and spoke, there was nothing in him of a monk's composure—only genuine, unfiltered emotion.

The elder Taoist, whom Wang Qianshan called "Master," gently adjusted the peachwood hairpin on his disciple's head.

"Rise and pay for the tea," he said.

Wang Qianshan obeyed, settled the bill, and stood respectfully before his master.

The Taoist resumed sipping his tea. Though he sat on a rough wooden stool, his posture was upright, his figure like a pine tree—radiating an air of effortless grace despite his coarse attire.

His cheeks were gaunt, his cheekbones pronounced, but his eyes—those captivating, almond-shaped eyes—shone with clarity and strength, unlike the dreamy, unfocused gaze of his daughter. His stare carried the weight of thunder and lightning, akin to the divine might of the Celestial Sovereign who commands the Five Thunders.

Yes, this Taoist was Ye Xi—the estranged father of Ye Jiao.

He drank in silence, no longer testing Wang Qianshan on scriptures or divination.

Wang Qianshan grew restless and took the initiative to speak.

"All is well at the Duke of Anguo's estate. The eldest young lady now manages the accounts, the young master was promoted to Director of Waterworks at the Ministry of Works, and even the second young lady holds the position of director at the Armory Division of the Ministry of War. Two middle-rank officials in one family—Madam truly raised them well."

Ye Xi gently blew away the tea's surface foam, saying nothing.

Wang Qianshan continued, "The second young lady is truly wise. She once told me, 'To become a celestial of heaven, one must perform thirteen hundred good deeds; to become a celestial of earth, three hundred are needed.' I've stopped focusing on alchemy, and now devote myself to helping others, accumulating virtue."

Ye Xi gave a rare nod of approval, glancing at Wang Qianshan. "You've improved."

Encouraged by praise, Wang Qianshan grew even more talkative.

"Master, you've returned at the perfect time. On the twenty-ninth of March, the second young lady will wed Prince Chu. Though you've renounced the world, she cannot bid farewell to her parents without you there."

He rubbed his hands together excitedly.

"She'll be so happy to see you. Master, you don't know—when she's happy, she's adorable and witty. But when she's angry, she's more terrifying than thunderclaps…"

Wang Qianshan rambled on until he noticed Ye Xi's expression darkening. He promptly fell silent, bowing his head.

"Prince Chu…" Ye Xi set down his cup, his tone flat. "Is it that boy who was cast away to the imperial tombs as a child? He now bears the title Prince Chu?"

His voice was calm, yet it stirred unease, like a chill wind brushing through a dense forest, threatening to rip leaves from their branches.

"That's him," Wang Qianshan answered solemnly. "I've examined his birth chart, but my skills are too shallow—I couldn't discern much."

"No need to discern anything," Ye Xi said, placing his rough cup down. "No need."

His tone carried a strange aversion to the very name "Prince Chu."

Wang Qianshan hesitated, then led the horse forward. "Please mount, Master."

"You return on your own," Ye Xi replied, his brows drawing together as if deep in thought. "I have another destination."

Wang Qianshan hastily pulled out two silver notes from his sleeve and presented them respectfully.

"Living in the capital is costly—please accept these."

Ye Xi did not refuse. He accepted the silver and strode off, disappearing down a path by the official road.

Wang Qianshan waited until the trees swallowed his master's figure before he clambered onto his horse.

The tea vendor woman praised, "Such a filial disciple—offering your master so much silver."

Wang Qianshan shook his head solemnly. "That wasn't silver—that was my virtue."

Following Ye Jiao's advice, he had begun to do good deeds and earn money—pursuing both virtue and wealth without delay.

Once he had enough virtue, he would ascend as an immortal.

Meanwhile, Prince Zhao, Li Jing, had adopted a daily routine of three tasks: lying down, eating, and caressing the princess consort's belly.

His wounds from the cane punishment had yet to heal, but he could now endure lying on his back for short periods. Constantly lying on his stomach had left him worried that certain essential parts of his body might be crushed.

What baffled him most was that Princess Consort Zhao's belly showed no signs of swelling.

"Still so flat?" he asked with growing concern. "Could the imperial physician have been mistaken?"

Princess Consort Zhao, Cui Jin'er, scoffed while eating sour fish slices.

"Have you ever seen anyone show at two months? Mother said she didn't show until five months when carrying you."

This was something the Empress had said when once urging Cui Jin'er to conceive. Now that she was with child, Cui Jin'er longed to share the news with the Emperor and Empress—but following Li Ce's advice, she restrained herself.

The fleeting joy and pride of the moment were nothing compared to the safety of her unborn child.

Li Jing once again reached out, and this time, Cui Jin'er puffed out her belly for him to touch. He finally seemed satisfied, though he couldn't help but grumble, "I need to brag to Xiao Jiu. Where's he been these past few days?"

"Busy with court affairs," Cui Jin'er said, putting down her chopsticks and dabbing her lips with a silk cloth. A trace of worry crept into her voice. "His Majesty is ill, and the investiture ceremony is drawing near. On top of that, Ye Jiao has encountered trouble at the Armament Bureau…"